Jack of Ravens (34 page)

‘It is a mystery how we ever got an education.’ Balfour grew grave. ‘If Dee told you what lies in the catacombs, then these are dark times. That was a secret supposed to outlive us by many a generation.’

‘A device to communicate with angels,’ Will said.

Balfour snorted. ‘Dee and his angels. Gods, Will. Gods. There is more than one secret here, but all point to the true history that lies behind the one we know: of this country’s secret communion with the Fair Folk over the years.’ He glanced at Church and Tom. ‘These can be trusted?’

‘On my life, Robert.’

‘Then come. Let us venture into the bowels.’

Lifting a lamp, Balfour took Church, Tom and Will into a panelled drawing room and then through a hidden door to a flight of stone steps that wound down into the dark. Church struggled to comprehend the exterior architecture as they descended, and it was only when the stone walls grew wet to the touch and drops of moisture began to fall with echoing splashes that he realised the steps must lead down into one of the pillars that supported the bridge, and then deeper still, beneath the river bed itself. Tom had clearly reached the same conclusion, for he was starting to grow uneasy.

‘Will the stones hold?’ he said. ‘The water drips through as if the first sign of a coming deluge.’

‘It sluices out into vast chambers below,’ Balfour said. ‘It has stood for three hundred and fifty years and will stand for hundreds more. In this construction, you will find the greatest secrets of the master masons, passed down from Solomon himself.’

‘Who built it?’ Church was amazed by construction skill that would have stunned modern engineers.

‘Robert’s family can trace their line back to the Order of the Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon,’ Will said, ‘and his kin have guarded their secrets with religious fervour since those days.’

‘On the thirteenth day of October, thirteen hundred and seven, that damnable Philippe of France set about the destruction of the Order,’ Balfour said. ‘Eighteen galleys left the Order’s naval base at La Rochelle filled with Templar wealth and the accumulated mass of their wisdom, not just from the Holy Land but from across the known world. Of the two, this wisdom was the greater prize.’

The stairwell opened out into a vaulted chamber with more rooms leading off through dark doorways on every wall. Water dripped from the low ceiling to puddle and run into drains set into the flagged floor.

‘In this repository was placed one full quarter of the Templars’ wisdom, including many of the magical artefacts they recovered from ancient sites across the lands,’ Balfour continued.

‘And here we shall find the talisman that Dee has directed us to retrieve?’ Will mused.

‘A device to communicate with the gods and, for a short time, to bend them to your will.’ Balfour nodded gravely.

‘Why has this not been gifted to the queen?’ Will asked.

‘Too dangerous an object to be allowed to fall into the hands of any particular political or religious sect,’ Tom noted.

‘The Fey have had many dealings with our rulers across the long centuries,’ Balfour said. ‘’Tis written that kings and queens of Faerie have banqueted with our monarchs since the Flood. Indeed, one is said to be in our queen’s court even now, kept in chambers far from prying eyes. ’Tis said she advised Sir Edmund Spenser before his trip to Munster. Some stood with William of Normandy and turned the tide of battle. Others brought much amusement to Henry and his father before him. But the true dangers were revealed long ago when one of the gods went mad and had to be bound beneath Rosslyn Chapel not far from fair Edinburgh, where it is said his screams can be heard to this day. No man must have that power, nor no country, though they call me traitor.’

‘Yet you’re letting us have it,’ Church noted.

‘For a while only, and it must be returned. These are dark times, if the word I received from Dee is to be believed. Desperate times require desperate measures.’

‘Where does it lie?’ Will peered into the gloom.

‘There is a labyrinth. The Templars protected their treasures well. But stay left and you will find your way through to the repository. The artefact you require is a crystal skull. Legends say it was fashioned in the land of the gods themselves, and placed here as a lure for foolish mortals who chose to bring the powers to their home.’ They all fell silent for a moment until Balfour said, ‘Dee’s coded letter spoke of a box? Some kind of doomsday weapon?’

‘We have sent it north for safekeeping.’

‘To the safe house?’

‘None would think to look for it there,’ Will said.

‘Good,’ Balfour replied. ‘It would be dangerous to have the box and skull in close proximity.’

A distant bell rang.

‘What is that?’ Tom asked.

‘A warning.’ Balfour looked concerned. ‘An intruder in my home above.’

‘Marlowe waits without,’ Will said.

‘Then I fear for good Kit’s wellbeing. The alarm is in my inner sanctum. Go on ahead. I will return to deter any unwanted guests.’ Balfour left the lamp with them and slipped back into the stairwell.

Tom shivered. ‘This place makes my lungs ache. What loon would build rooms beneath a river?’

‘No loon, but someone foolish as a snake.’ Will lifted the lamp and headed towards the first opening on the left.

The catacombs were as oppressive and confusing as they had feared. Every chamber was exactly like the last, with numerous doors leading off to other chambers, all alike. Church guessed the chambers formed some kind of extensive honeycomb structure where a man could wander for days or weeks without finding a way out. He marvelled again at the expertise required to construct such a maze in such an inhospitable place.

Water dripped everywhere they went, but in some places it streamed through the roof in a sheet, and at one point they had to wade knee-deep through a slow-moving current. Each new obstacle raised Tom’s anxiety another notch, until Church could hear his wheezing breath above the drips and echoes.

But Balfour’s guidance saw them through, and after a good half-hour they came to a large chamber bisected by rusty iron bars like a cell door. Beyond was a cornucopia of gold and precious jewels, chests, books, statues and other artefacts the purpose of which Church could not divine.

‘Riches beyond measure,’ Will noted. Why, I could buy my own country with these.’

‘Thinking of leaving the queen’s service?’ Church asked.

‘We all have a calling, Master Churchill, and mine is to be a spy – the best
in the world.’ Will gripped the rusted bars and peered with a faint yearning at what lay beyond. ‘I could no more give that up than you could turn your back on your obligation.’

Church was sick of hearing of his obligations and responsibilities, but he said nothing.

‘I have travelled far and wide,’ Will continued. ‘I have slit throats and duelled and poisoned. I have watched and listened and reported back. I have personally halted ten Catholic plots to take my mistress’s life. The Catholics will never rest until England has returned to the call of Rome, and so I can never rest.’ His usual charismatic smile looked wan in the lamplight. ‘It is a hard life and a brutal one, and there are times when I would wish to give it up for a quiet life in the country, and a wife and a family. But this is the life we have, Master Churchill, and we do the best we can.’

Church couldn’t answer him.

‘Will you get the damnable gates open so we can get out of here?’ Tom snapped.

‘Patience, True Thomas.’ Will moved the lamp along the railings until a shimmer of light revealed the crystal skull. ‘There. Now, where is the lock – and the key?’ He looked around, but saw no sign.

‘It would have helped if Balfour had told us how to get in there,’ Tom said with irritation.

‘I think he hoped to follow us,’ Church said.

‘And it troubles me that he is not here now.’ Will continued to search the length of the railings and the points where they disappeared into the stone walls. ‘If we try to tear them out – even if we could – we will have the roof down on us, and the river soon after.’

‘We can count on the Templars not to have made this easy,’ Church said.

‘Their reputation speaks of tricks and traps,’ Will said. ‘Even if we find the key, we must beware.’

‘Enough talk!’ Tom raged, his claustrophobia overwhelming him. ‘I cannot spend another moment in this place!’

He stormed to the shadows at the rear of the chamber where Church could hear him splashing back and forth through pools of water. After a moment he fell silent before calling out, ‘Here!’

Church and Will found him standing against the rear wall in one corner, pointing to the flags. Church looked at the floor and saw nothing at first, then finally made out a black square of water where one of the flags had been removed.

Tom held out a wringing wet sleeve. ‘It goes down an arm’s length, then doglegs towards the railings.’

‘A tunnel to a lever, perhaps,’ Will mused.

‘That’s crazy. It’s barely big enough to get my shoulder through,’ Church said. ‘It might just be a drain. You don’t know how far the tunnel goes or if
you could hold your breath for that long. You wouldn’t even be able to turn around. You’d have to scramble backwards, underwater, in the dark.’

Tom was ghost-white in the lamplight. He brought a trembling hand to his mouth.

‘It is all we have,’ Will said. ‘We must try.’

Church steeled himself. ‘I’ll go.’ He began to unbuckle his sword belt.

Will caught his arm. ‘This is my place. My obligation. I’ll do it now, before I have time to think again.’

Will took a deep breath and then, before Church could protest, forced himself down through the hole.

11

Freezing water numbed Will’s face and body in one shocking instant, and then he was engulfed in complete darkness. Using his hands for eyes, he felt for the dogleg Tom had described. It took an effort to twist his body around the sharp bend, and he knew then how difficult it would be to repeat the manoeuvre in reverse.

The tunnel was barely wide enough to contain his shoulders. His head bumped against the stone repeatedly and his elbows and knees dragged; only a hair’s breadth separated him from becoming jammed in the restrictive space.

He could hold his breath for at least the count of ninety, the result of childhood days swimming in the sea off Kent. But if he continued to forty-five, would he not retreat at a much slower rate? What, then, should he set as his target, for his life depended on it? The first edge of panic increased its pressure on his mind.

Dragging himself forward, feeling ahead in the numb blackness, the water pressed as hard around him as an iron coffin. An ache began in his lungs.
Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one
. How much longer? He must have covered half the distance between the rear wall of the chamber and the treasure, locked under the stone on which they had walked. He dragged himself on.
Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one
. It was time to turn back or he would die there, horribly, fighting to hold on and hold on and hold on, until he could do so no longer, and then he would suck the icy water into his lungs, thrashing, unable to move backwards or forwards, wedged …

His fingers closed on a protrusion on the wall: a handle of some sort. Will grasped it and yanked down. At first it didn’t move. He increased the pressure and it shifted slightly. Manoeuvring himself to gain leverage against the walls, he used both hands and all his strength.

The lever came down. Instantly, Will was driving himself backwards, the insane panic close to breaking through despite his best efforts.
Fifty-three,
fifty-four, fifty-five
. He pulled himself along with the toes of his boots and his elbows, moving too slowly, barely moving at all.

His lungs were on fire, his throat as thin as a taper. Stars flashed across the dark inside his eyes. He was inching back. When he reached ninety he stopped counting.

His boot heels came up hard against something and at first he thought he’d gone insane, until he realised he had reached the upward shaft to the treasure chamber. But he had no more air left, and the urge to open his mouth and breathe in was almost overwhelming.

He tried to twist his legs around, could not. He forced himself, became jammed in the turn. He started to flail. He began to open his mouth to gasp.

Hands grabbed his ankles and yanked him upwards with such force that his flesh was torn against the stone. He smashed his head, blacked out momentarily, and then he was dragged out roughly onto the flags, where he sucked in burning air in huge mouthfuls. Finally, the darkness lifted from his eyes.

‘Bloody hell. I thought you were done for,’ Church said.

It took another moment before Will could pull enough rational thoughts together to speak. ‘A little swim. ’Twas nothing.’ He steadied himself and forced a smile. ‘But I thank you for your aid, Master Churchill. You caught a fine fish today.’

Will accepted Church’s hand to help him to his feet, and he tried to contain the shivering that came as much from the shock as the cold. Yet as he glanced towards the treasure he saw the ordeal had been worthwhile. The gate was raised; the crystal skull beckoned.